March of the Hunter
by GJayCad
Summary: Bjorn Blackmane, devoted follower of Hircine, has returned to Skyrim after years of campaigning in Hammerfell against the hated Thalmor. With him comes his loyal band of warriors, all ready to fight again in this strange, frozen land. Credit to user: keller.blair1 for original concept and help with story planning
1. Chapter 1

The snow was cold underfoot, the sun was warm overhead as they climbed that final ridge. As they crested the hilltop, that warmth was swallowed up in a gust of sharply cold wind that struck them in their faces like a slap from Kyne herself.

Most of the group shivered, even with the furs they had wrapped around themselves. There were only two who had not wrapped up, and they were the only two who did not seem to mind the cold. One, an orc, stood bare chested as the wind, surveying the land before them, looking almost disappointed.

The other was the group's leader and he too regarded Skyrim. Though the look in his eyes was far from disappointed. They were the dark blue of a stormy sky, yet they shone with pleasure as they took in his homeland.

Unlike the orc, he was wearing fur. His shoulders were covered with a cloak made from Snow Bear hide, a gift from his father before he had left Skyrim, which was fastened with a bronze clasp beneath his chin.

Unlike the others, however, this man did not wrap himself in his furs and instead let the wind blow it behind him, exposing the orichalcum plate mail he wore underneath. The armour had been a gift from an orc war chief he had fought with, a token of respect. The plate was covered in the pelt of a sabrecat that hung like a tabard over the orcish metal. The head of the beast crested the helmet, the two fangs coming down on either side of the wearer's face in a ferocious snarl.

'So, is this Markarth?' one of the wrapped-up men asked as he came to stand beside them. He, like the orc, did not look overly enthused by that land ahead of them. Like most of the group, he was a Redguard and so used to much warmer lands than the frozen tundra of Skyrim.

To Bjorn Blackmane, however, the soft crunch of snow and the harsh winds felt just like home and he smiled.

'No,' he answered his friend, 'Markarth lies to the north of here. Behind those mountains.' He pointed off to the distance where they could indeed see the high peaks of a mountain range. 'this is Falkreath, the homeland of Talos himself.'

The Redguard, whose name was Alesne, looked again upon the land. He looked no happier than he had moments before but maybe a touch more reverent. The Redguards might not hold Talos as a god in the way most other men did, but they recognised and respected the strength of power of the man he had been, and that was enough for Bjorn.

It felt strange to be leaving Hammerfell. He had spent so many years there, fighting alongside the Redguards as they continued to beat back the hated Thalmor. But he had spoken with the Lord of Hunts who had told him the time had come to pursue new prey.

The Spear of the Hunter, a gift given into Bjorn's own hands by the Lord of Hunts, seemed to twitch excitedly in his hands, as if eager to begin the new chase. Though what they were to chase, Bjorn was not yet sure of. Hircine had not told that to him, but he was sure it would become clear in time.

For now, he would be happy to carry on taking the fight to the Thalmor, now in his own homeland. This was why his companions had joined him.

'Long have you fought with us in our land against the enemy,' Jaiatu had said the night Bjorn had told them he was leaving, 'it is only right that we join you when you fight in yours.'

Jaiatu Nuuga was Bjorn's oldest friend and they had fought beside each other in countless battles now. Curiously for a Redguard, Jaiatu seemed to honour the Nordic pantheon and often spoke of Sovngarde. He even wore an amulet of Talos around his neck.

Alesne and Roxelana Martell, the other Redguards in his group, kept to the Redguard ways. Alesne followed Satakal as his god, as did many of the Alik'r nomads. Roxelana, despite having been raised in the port city of Rihad, preferred the winder places of the world and followed Ius, their god of animals, though more and more, Bjorn thought she might turn to the worship of the Lord of Hunts.

Lorzuk, the orc, had also joined out of loyalty. Bjorn had, in the orc's eyes, saved him from a skooma problem and had given him purpose again and the will to take up the axe. Even Goshawk, a Breton mage descended from the Reachmen, who had all reason to hate Bjorn simply for being a Nord, followed him and had followed him loyally since they had met five years before.

Only one of their number followed Bjorn not out of loyalty or hatred of the Thalmor, but because it was commanded of him. Ulwaar Highmoon was a fellow devotee of Hircine and their Lord had commanded the wood elf to accompany him on his journey to the north. A fact Bjorn was not happy with. The dark eyed elves of Valenwood had gone over to the Thalmor along with the cats of Elsweyr. They were almost as bad as the Summerset elves. The fact he was having to walk the same road as this elf was an insult. But it was as the Lord commanded and so he must obey.

Bjorn stole a quick look back at Ulwaar, easy to make out being the shortest of their number. Well whatever their reasons, they were with him. And he would lead them to glory just as he had in Hammerfell.

They were over the border and quickly found a road leading North. Bjorn knew he wanted to be heading east, towards Windhelm. There he would find the man he had heard so much about, this Ulfric Stormcloak, who had risen up in glorious rebellion against the cowardly Empire to spit in the face of the Thalmor.

Bjorn longed to meet him. From what he had heard, he was a man to inspire armies, who could lead the Nords to freedom. And Bjorn wanted to be at his side when he did.

But first, they would need news and a way of getting to Windhelm. And if he remembered rightly, both would be found at Markarth, along with a proper bed for the night, their first bed in the gods alone knew how long.

Bjorn stole a sly look back at Roxelana. A true bed to pull her into, where she could laugh as he kissed her, where she could moan and scream as he took her. By the gods she was beautiful. Short for a Redguard, she barely came up to his chin, and buxom for all she tried to hide it beneath her leather armour. Her eyes were large and her hair was long, falling in ringlets to the middle of her back when it was not tied in a braid.

Roxelana seemed to feel his eyes on her for she met his gaze and gave him a coy smile. She knew what he was thinking. Bjorn wondered if she was as excited as he was at the thought of her dark legs wrapped around him, of her nails digging into his back, his hand tangling in her thick hair. Bjorn imagined kissing those full lips of hers now and then hearing her gasp as his kisses moved down to her round, ripe breasts.

'Riders!' Ulwaar called.

Bjorn looked back ahead and saw the elf was right. In the distance he could see a group of mounted men coming straight towards them.

Cursing himself for getting distracted, he cast about. They had taken pains to avoid the Imperial checkpoints coming into Skyrim, he did not want to get taken by them now.

'Over there!' Jaiatu called, gesturing at a thicket of trees just a short way off the road. Bjorn and his group made for it. Not a moment too soon.

It was an Imperial patrol, leading what looked like a prison transport. Two wagons, each driven by legionnaires, both full of bound men and women.

'Stormcloaks,' Goshawk said, quietly, as they watched the wagons go by.

'What?' Alesne asked.

'Those were followers of Ulfric Stormcloak,' Goshawk explained, 'that's what they call themselves.'

'Where are they going?' Roxelana asked.

'Execution, probably,' Lorzuk said, matter-of-factly, 'that's what you usually do with enemy soldiers.'

'Well not a lot we can do for them, even if that is their fate,' Jaiatu said, regretfully, still watching the wagons as they turned a corner in the road and began to disappear from sight. 'Wonder where they're going.'

'I think there's a big town over that way,' Bjorn struggled to remember, it had been many years, 'Helgen, I think. Fortified place with big walls.'

They waited for the patrol to disappear from sight and hearing before they moved from their hiding place. It rankled Bjorn, having to hide from Imperials. But there had been too many of them, and they'd all been mounted. They'd have taken most of them, but they would have lost.

Roxelana spat after them.

'Imperial bastards,' she said, hatred in her voice. She, like many Redguards, held the Emperor and those who followed him in the deepest contempt for signing that peace deal with the Thalmor. From what he'd heard, it was a sentiment that many here in Skyrim shared, Ulfric Stormcloak among them. One of the many reasons Bjorn was eager to join his fight.

Not long, he thought as they passed by a sign that pointed in the direction of Markarth, not long now. Then I shall prove my worth. To Ulfric, to Father, and Lord Hircine.

The first step was Markarth.


	2. Chapter 2

Bjorn led them over the wild tundra of Skyrim. Eventually snow gave way to rich, green grass and Bjorn knew they had crossed into the Reach. For miles around, he saw fields full of wheat and barley. There were windmills turning in the western wind and cows, chickens and goats grazing in the heights.

When Bjorn had last walked these lands, they had been in the hands of the native Reachmen, Bretons who had crossed the mountain and settled here, but he had heard, while in Hammerfell, that Ulfric Stormcloak had taken the land back for the Nords, and a good thing too in his opinion. Skyrim had very little good farming land as it was, they could hardly afford to give away the Reach when it sat right on their border.

Bjorn's followers came after him, saying little. They were all of them tired by this time. It had been a long and exhausting day.

Night had long fallen by the time they arrived at the gates of Markarth. A small army stood on guard outside, many of them holding the leashes of great hounds. These dogs snarled and barked at Bjorn and his band as they drew towards the gates. The horses in the nearby stables shook their heads and stamped nervously.

One of the guards came forward.

'Halt,' he called to them. Bjorn was aware that the man's hand was tight on the hilt of his sword. As too were many of the others. One of the guards by the stables was trying her best to keep one hand on the haft of her battleaxe while she held onto the leash of a particularly eager dog with the other.

Something had them all on edge.

'Is the city closed?' Bjorn asked, trying to sound jovial. He just wanted food and a bed and he knew the best way to reach those things was to appear non-threatening.

The guard drew closer. Though his helmet obscured his face, Bjorn got the impression he was being examined. He tried his best to hide his frustration. He thought he might have left this suspicion behind. This was his homeland; ought he not find welcome here?

'Not closed,' the guard finally said, stepping back, 'but the jarl has ordered tight security across the hold.'

'Why is that?' Roxelana had appeared at Bjorn's side. Glancing to his other shoulder, Bjorn saw Jaiatu there, his face impassive. The rest had gathered behind them.

'There's a war on, girl, in case you hadn't heard,' the guard said, as if explaining something obvious to someone simple, 'and its to ensure safety against the Forsworn, of course.' He stated that last part as if it should have been obvious.

'You say Forsworn as if we should know who that is,' Jaiatu remarked, looking curious. The guard turned to him, and Bjorn could tell he was incredulous without needing to see his face.

'The Forsworn are a plague on the Reach, man,' he said, 'how can you not…'

'We have only recently come to Skyrim,' Goshawk cut in, 'much of recent events are news to us.'

The guard snorted at that.

'The Forsworn are hardly recent,' he told them, 'they've been plaguing Markarth since Jarl Ulfric took it from them.'

'The Forsworn are Reachmen?' Bjorn said, understanding now.

The guard nodded.

'Its what they call themselves, anyway,' he nodded towards the gate, 'it's clear you're not one of them, anyway. And even if you are Stormcloaks, I don't see what seven of you can do by yourselves.' He glanced at Ulwaar. 'Though I doubt Stormcloaks would work in company like this.'

Ulwaar turned his dark eyes on the guard but said nothing. The guard did not seem to notice.

'Go on in,' he said, 'but mind yourselves and keep out of trouble, or it'll be Cidhna Mine for the lot of you.'

Just what that was supposed to mean, Bjorn didn't bother to ask. He thanked the guard and led the others through. An inn was what they needed at the moment. For food, a bed for the night and maybe some news. By the sound of it, Markarth was no friend to the Stormcloaks. So perhaps buying carriages for Windhelm would not be a wise move. But they might find out where Imperial held land ended. If they could cover a good amount of distance, that would be better than nothing.

As soon as they were into the city, Bjorn saw the place. A large building, but then it seemed every building in the city was large, with a sign swinging above the door announcing it as the Silver-blood Inn.

'Looks as good a place as any,' Jaiatu said, speaking aloud Bjorn's own thoughts. The others agreed and followed when Bjorn led them into the tavern.

Inside was a hive of activity. Guests talked and laughed while, in the corner, a grey-bearded bard played a fast, merry song on a flute while a dancing girl twirled and jumped in time to the music. She was a pretty thing. She was an orc but, had it not been for the green skin, Bjorn would not have known. She was slender and beautiful, with long dark hair that fell loosely around her face. She wore a colourful dress that swirled around her as she danced. Bjorn could not help but stare at her.

That was until a dig in the ribs made him turn to see Roxelana, who was looking at him with a glint of amusement in her eye.

'See something you like?' she asked. Bjorn swept her up and kissed her.

'I certainly do,' he said, warmly. Roxelana chuckled but allowed the embrace to go on while she kissed him back.

'When you two are quite finished,' Jaiatu cut into their moment, 'the innkeeper's waiting for the gold.'

Bjorn turned from Roxelana to look at Jaiatu.

'So, pay him,' he said, impatiently. Jaiatu rolled his eyes.

'You're the one carrying the gold, remember?'

Feeling foolish for having forgotten, Bjorn pulled his coin pouch off his belt and tossed it to Jaiatu.

'There should be enough in there to cover rooms and food for all of us,' he told the Redguard, 'tell the others to ask around, see what you can find out.'

Jaiatu nodded and turned back to the bar, where an irate looking innkeeper stood, drumming his fingers impatiently.

Bjorn turned back around to see that Roxelana had already gone. Glancing around the tavern, he saw that she was already talking to a group of men who had the look of miners. In no time at all, she was sat on one of their laps, laughing and chatting away as she took drinks from their mugs.

Bjorn snorted and turned aside. Lesser men might be jealous, but he knew who's bed she'd be in tonight and it would not be any of those men. He had seen Roxelana use that tactic dozens of times and it had almost always yielded information.

He saw that the others had found food and drink and had gathered by the fire. Lorzuk and Ulwaar did not seem interested in talking to anyone, apparently content to eat and drink in peace. Bjorn supposed he didn't mind; he had hardly expected the elf or the orc to be much use in gathering information.

Alesne, Jaiatu and Goshawk were making themselves useful anyway, already chatting away with a couple of mercenaries. Likely comparing war stories. They had more than enough of those to go around after all their years campaigning in Hammerfell. Bjorn rather wished he could join them and relive some of their proud moments.

But that would have to wait for another day. He would have to do his part on his own.

'Ulfric Stormcloak?' a cracked, gravelly spoke up above the din of the tavern, 'doubt we'll be seeing any more trouble from him.'

Bjorn wheeled around. The voice was coming from the gnarled looking innkeeper who seemed to be addressing a small crowd of patrons.

'What are you talking about?' one drunkard piped up, his words slurred with numerous cups of ale and mead.

'What I'm talking about, Cosnach, is Jarl Ulfric's gotten himself captured,' the innkeeper answered, his voice thick with disdain, 'an imperial patrol took him near Darkwater Crossing just a few days ago. The Jarl got the news today.'

'So, how'd you hear about it?' Cosnach asked, sneeringly.

'Hroki heard it from one of her friends who works in the keep,' the innkeeper answered, obvious dislike in his eyes as he addressed Cosnach, 'Ulfric's been captured, I said. He's been taken to Helgen for execution. Likely its already happened. The war is over.'

Those words echoed around the tavern like the final stroke of a bell. Without even meaning to, Bjorn caught Jaiatu's eye from across the common room. He could tell that his friend was thinking the same thing as he was. Indeed, looking around, he saw similar expressions on the faces of all of them.

Ulfric was dead. Without him the Stormcloak's would never win. The war was over which meant they had come all this way for nothing. What were they supposed to do now?


	3. Chapter 3

Morning broke harsh and cold over Markarth the next morning. The bright, Last Seed sun could be seen through gaps in the cloud, but its spots of rich heat did nothing to warm the city, or Bjorn's mood.

He picked at his breakfast in the common room of the Silver-Blood Inn, without any appetite for the plate of bacon and blood pudding that Kleppr had handed him. The news he had heard last night was still echoing in his head, so much so that the noise of the other patrons, the workers of the smelter who were coming in for their breakfast, barely registered.

The rest of his band were scattered around the common room in groups of two or three. None had come to join him. Even Roxelana kept her distance. She had not even come with him to bed, instead sharing Jaiatu's room. She was sitting with him now, along with Lorzuk. Those three had known him longest, knew when he needed his space. But Bjorn knew they and all the others were all talking about the same thing. It was the same thing that thundered like the coastal waves in his own head.

Ulfric was dead. Their journey here had been wasted. They had left Hammerfell for no reason. Where were they supposed to go now? Where would he, Bjorn, lead them.

Was this really what Lord Hircine had wanted for him? Bjorn had been so sure that the Lord of Hunts had sent him here to Skyrim to join Ulfric, to hunt the Thalmor out of his homeland. Perhaps that had just been wishful thinking. But if not to join the Stormcloaks, then what was his purpose here?

'You have the look of a man in need of purpose.'

Bjorn looked up, right into a pair of eyes the colour of the clear sky above the tundra. These were set in a delicate, green skinned face that was framed by a cascading shower of dark hair. It took Bjorn a moment to recognise her as the dancing girl from the night before, now dressed in the uniform of a tavern worker.

The girl smiled and proffered the pitcher she held.

'Mead?' she asked, 'or would you prefer milk, this time of the morning?'

'Mead is fine,' Bjorn answered. He spoke gently but firmly. He might be lost and unsure where to go, but he would not let anyone imply he was a milk-drinker.

The girl giggled, rather prettily, before filling a cup on his table with the amber liquid.

'What did you mean?' Bjorn asked, 'about me looking like I need purpose?'

The girl raised an eyebrow at him.

'Well, just that of course,' she said, 'I've worked this tavern a long time. Plenty of men and women I've seen who are lost, trying to figure out what to do next in their lives. All of them wore that same face you do.'

'Is that right?' Bjorn asked, 'so do you have any advice for a man with this face I'm wearing?'

The girl shrugged. She was wearing several gold bangles and this movement had them all tinkling against each other.

'Not really,' she said, 'I was just making an observation. Though I have found that, often, we can find ourselves exactly where we need to be, if we just wait and watch.'

'Oi!' Kleppr shouted from his bar, 'I'm not paying you to flirt, girl! We have customers, get back to work!'

The girl jumped and turned to leave but, before she could, Bjorn slipped three gold septims into her hand.

'For the mead,' he explained, 'and the words.'

The girl gave him another pretty smile before turning to go see to other guests. Bjorn could not help but notice how her hips swayed with each step.

'She have anything much to say?'

Bjorn turned, surprised to see Goshawk standing behind him. He had been sitting with a couple of Bretons, who had the look of Reachmen, at a nearby table.

'Not a lot,' he admitted, 'just said I need a purpose.'

Goshawk sniffed.

'She's not wrong,' he said, 'Bjorn you know I'd follow you into Oblivion, we all would. Well, most of us,' he shot a glance at Ulwaar. The elf was sharing a table with Alesne, neither of them talking to each other. Goshawk went on, 'but we followed you to Skyrim because you said we could join up with the Stormcloaks. If they are truly finished, what do we do now?'

The mage had kept his voice low, but at mention of the Stormcloaks both he and Bjorn glanced around to make sure they were not being overheard. Kleppr and the rest of his family and staff were seeing to customers and no one was standing close enough to hear them over the noise.

It was as he was glancing that Bjorn noticed the rest of his band were stealing quick looks over at them. Clearly Goshawk was voicing the concerns of the whole group.

To stall for time, Bjorn picked up his cup of mead and took a swallow. It was very good. Rich with the flavour of honey and spice, just the way he liked it. He wondered which brewery it had come from. He remembered he'd always liked the Black-Briar mead of his native Riften when he'd been younger, but this did not taste quite the same.

'In truth, I don't know,' he finally admitted. No sense lying about this, he thought. They'd followed him here, it would not be honourable to lie to them, 'if we cannot strike at the Thalmor then I suppose it makes no sense to remain in Skyrim. We can rest up here for a few days and then head back west. Perhaps there'll be those who can make use of our skills in High Rock.'

He knew that would not work. He could not leave Skyrim. Lord Hircine had commanded him to come. But he could not well tell the band that. Most of them still held to their gods. In truth he did not know where many of them stood on the matter of Daedra worship.

What he could do now, though, was think. He'd bought a few days' time for that. In that time, surely, he could come up with some cause to remain in the province.

A sudden commotion broke across these thoughts. Bjorn looked up to see that a group of four people, all dressed in the garb of miners, had charged into the inn, looks of panic on all their faces.

'The Forsworn!' the one at their head, a large Nord with long, auburn hair shouted, 'they've taken Karthwasten!'

'What in Oblivion are you talking about?' one man slurred from the bar, Bjorn thought he remembered the man's name was Cosnach, 'you mean the Forsworn have raided?' He sniggered as he poured more drink into his flagon. 'The Forsworn have been raiding for years. That's all they do.'

'No, he doesn't mean raided, your stupid goat-turd,' a woman pushed passed the auburn-haired man to glower at Cosnach. 'The Forsworn took Karthwasten. As in, they took over the place. They killed all the guards and anyone else who got in their way. We're some of the few who were able to get away.'

Cosnach sniggered again, though Bjorn noticed that the man looked a bit more worried now.

'Tell the jarl,' Kleppr spoke up over the shocked silence that had filled the tavern, 'Igmund will send soldiers to retake Karthwasten, of course he will.'

'Ainethach has already gone to see him,' one of the others in the group said.

'Would have though the Forsworn would have let him stick around,' Cosnach muttered. 'Him being a Reachman and all.'

The woman who'd upbraided him before rounded on the drunkard with a distinct look of dislike.

'Are you completely stupid?' The woman spat at him. 'Madanach called Ainethach a traitor and a Nord lapdog. He was lucky to get out of there alive.'

Cosnach didn't reply, at least not audibly, instead he contented himself with muttering into his flagon. But no one noticed. At the mention of the name Madanach, there had been a gasp.

'Madanach?' Kleppr exclaimed, 'he was there?'

The woman nodded.

'He led the attack himself. I saw him skewer three of the guards on that longsword of his.'

'How many Forsworn did he have with him?' a Redguard woman, who had the look of a merchant, piped up from one of the tables.

The auburn-haired man shrugged.

'We didn't exactly hang around to count,' he said, 'there were a lot though. Hundreds of them. And they had witches with them, casting fireballs and ice spikes and sending Atronachs to butcher as many as they could reach.'

A collective shudder seemed to go around the room.

Bjorn looked over at Jaiatu. His friend caught his eye and smiled. Bjorn knew they were thinking the same thing.

Praise Hircine, he thought, for I asked for prey to hunt, and he has provided.

'How far is it to Karthwasten?'

The group looked taken aback as Bjorn pushed through the crowd.

'What?' the auburn-haired man spluttered, 'you're not thinking of going, are you? The place is overrun.'

'How far?' Bjorn asked again, calmly.

'You might as well just tell him,' Roxelana had appeared, as if from nowhere, beside the miner, 'he'll be going, one way or the other.'

The miner had jumped when Roxelana had first spoken, but turned back to regard Bjorn, he looked like he was trying to decide something.

'Its about a half-day's journey,' he said finally, 'just follow the road.' He looked on the verge of saying something else, perhaps another warning, but Bjorn walked back to his table and picked up his spear from where it lay.

He turned around to see his band were also standing and readying their weapons and belongings. Some might have thought it strange that not a one of them appeared anxious or even worried about the idea of facing down a whole army. But this was what they did, what they had done for years. Faced impossible odds. The hours they had been spending here, not knowing what their next move would be, that was more worrying to them than this. This was just getting back to business.

'We go to bring the fight to this Madanach,' Bjorn announced, loudly, 'any who would join us are welcome.'

For a moment, none moved or spoke. Everyone was looking at Bjorn and his band incredulously. Then one voice piped up.

'I'll be coming.'

Bjorn was surprised. It was the orc girl who had spoken to him, but she now wore not the uniform of a tavern worker, nor even the colourful dress she had danced in. She emerged from the crowd dressed in leather armour which had small plates of what looked like orichalcum stitched on. On her belt hung two swords of orc design while on her back hung a quiver and a bow.

'Shelha!' Kleppr exclaimed. 'You can't go! Its too dangerous!'

The orc girl, Shelha, looked at Kleppr, a fond look in her eye, as if she were looking at her own grandfather.

'I've enjoyed working here, Klep,' she said, cheekily, 'but I'm afraid its time for me to move on. Hopefully I'll be back someday.' She turned away from her former employer and came to stand beside Bjorn, who noticed Roxelana's eyes narrow slightly.

'I'll join you too.'

A burly Nord, with blonde hair that had been cut short, almost to the scalp, stood up. He had the look of a hunter, wearing simple furs and possibly the biggest bow Bjorn had ever seen on his back.

'Thrsim Beararm,' the hunter introduced himself before adding, softly, 'I was told to watch for you.'

Bjorn understood immediately. Another follower of Hircine.

Three more announced they would join Bjorn in attacking Karthwasten. Two Nords who had the look of mercenaries and, the woman who had been speaking so hotly to Kleppr. She introduced herself as Fjotra.

'My friend Mena is still in the village with her family,' she explained, 'the Forsworn captured them and some others to work the mine for them. She named her daughter for me. If I can help save them, then I will.'

Bjorn looked around. Twelve, including himself. Well he had done more with less before. He caught Roxelana's eye as they left the Silver-blood Inn. She smiled at him; her eyes full of anticipation. He knew her blood was as hot as his own.

The hunt was on.


End file.
